


I will meet you there

by stilljustbitten



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: ANGST O'CLOCK, Broken Heart, Drinking, M/M, can he be fixed??, like really, martin is hurting, weight loss, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilljustbitten/pseuds/stilljustbitten
Summary: His whole body tenses and he feels like all the blood rushes from his head. He must be wrong. Several times during the last years he has seen someone on the street and been convinced for a second that it was him, only to find out that it wasn’t. He closes his eyes for an instant, expecting to see someone else when he opens them. But it’s still him.Andrés is standing across the street with a woman by his side.Martín feels his heart rate increase while he slowly puts the planner back where he found it, careful not to make a sound. He inhales deeply and looks around him, his instincts telling him to find the nearest route to escape.He isn’t ready for this.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 18
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

It’s one of those days where the weather is stuck somewhere between fall and winter. It isn’t raining, but the wind is chilly, and the air smells of winter. The trees have lost their leaves, everything is grey in the absence of the sun.

Martín pulls his scarf to cover his chin. He walks slowly down the street, going nowhere in particular. This has become a habit of his, taking a walk to clear his mind, when it becomes too crowded. The afternoon is the perfect time for a walk, the streets are buzzing with people, plenty of stuff happens around him to keep his thoughts from wandering. Noone spares him a thought, he doesn’t have to pretend, to put on a mask.

He stops in front of a bookstore, taking out an exclusive-looking planner from a rack placed outside. He studies it, feels the smooth leather with his fingers. 

Suddenly he spots something out of the corner of his eyes. _Someone_. 

His whole body tenses and he feels like all the blood rushes from his head. He must be wrong. Several times during the last years he has seen someone on the street and been convinced for a second that it was him, only to find out that it wasn’t. He closes his eyes for an instant, expecting to see someone else when he opens them. But it’s still him.

Andrés is standing across the street with a woman by his side. 

Martín feels his heart rate increase while he slowly puts the planner back where he found it, careful not to make a sound. He inhales deeply and looks around him, his instincts telling him to find the nearest route to escape. _He isn’t ready for this_. 

When he looks across the street, Andrés is staring right back at him. He sees the familiar brown eyes widen for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of shock passing, and then it’s gone. 

“Martín,” Andrés says, making the woman beside him look at him, then at Martín, and back at him.

Martín is frozen in place, his body still in escape mode, but his eyes are fixed on Andrés. He knows that all of his feelings are painted on his face for Andrés to see, but he is unable to compose himself. 

Andrés walks towards him, a huge smile on his face - one that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Martín, is that really you?”

Martín tries to smile, but it feels like a grimace, so he drops it again. 

“Andrés.”

The name feels like blades on his tongue. He winces. 

He has played through this moment so many times in his head, having a thousand conversations with Andrés, but standing there, in front of him, he doesn’t remember a single word. All he can do is focus on his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. 

“Martín, this my wife, Ana.”

Martín nods and puts his shaky hand out to greet Ana. 

“Ana, this is my—” he pauses for a second “—friend, Martín. I haven’t seen him in years.” 

Inhale. Exhale. He’s used to pretending, he can do it now, too. He tries with a smaller smile this time. It feels better. He clears his throat.

“What are you doing here?”

It comes out more like an accusation than a curious question, but if Andrés notices, he doesn’t let it show. 

“We’re just traveling around Europe, I’m showing Ana all the wonders of the world. I must admit, I didn’t expect to find you here. It’s so— cold.”

“Well, here I am.” Martín shrugs.

“I see.” Andrés looks briefly at his watch. “Ana, dear, we should go to the theatre now.” He looks up at Martín. “We should catch up. How about a drink this evening?”

“Sure,” Martín hears himself say.

“Great”— Andrés lifts his hand, as if he wants to reach for Martín, but quickly lowers it again —”Meet me at 8 at the bar over there.” 

He points to a fancy looking bar, probably the only one in the city Martín has never been to.

Andrés wraps his arm around Ana and smiles at Martín before they turn around and leave. 

The instant Andrés turns away, Martín’s facade crumbles. He starts shaking, his breathing gets faster, and he knows that he has to get home if he doesn’t want to fall apart right here on the street. 

He manages to kick his door shut behind him before he sits down against the wall, buries his head in his hands, and fights to control his breathing. His body is shaking violently, even though he is still wearing his coat and scarf. He hasn’t felt this bad in months. He ends up sitting there, staring into the air, for about half an hour. He expects the tears to come, but they don’t. 

Eventually, he gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he finds a bottle of whisky and drinks from it. He winces at the taste, it has been a long time since he drank his whisky directly from the bottle, but he needs it now, to compose himself. The warmth from the drink fills his body, and his muscles relax. 

He looks at his watch. He still has a couple of hours before he has to meet Andrés. His stomach turns at the thought, a strange mix between nausea and butterflies. 

He gets rid of his clothes and takes a long shower, trying to calm his nerves with the hot water. Afterward, he shaves and looks at himself in the mirror. He still doesn’t look healthy, but he looks better than he has for the last couple of years. There’s more life in his eyes, but the area around them is still too dark. He looks tired. 

His index finger runs over the damp skin on his still too prominent collarbones. He lost a lot of weight since that night, an effect of not eating enough and drinking too much. His ribs are visible, and his hip bones too. He doesn’t care. Or he didn’t. Not before today, when he suddenly feels the need to look _good_. 

No one has cared about his looks for the past years. It isn’t like he needed to be pretty for the jobs he has done. He doesn’t need to be pretty to pick up men either. His body might not be as hot as before, but his moves are the same, and they still like his skills in the bedroom. Or in the bathroom, or in the dark alleys. Turns out you suck a dick just as good on an empty stomach, and your hip bones are even easier to bruise when they’re protruding like that. 

He struggles to find clothes that actually fit since he hasn’t bought anything new since his weight loss began. At least it helps cover how his body looks. 

When he straightens his shirt with his shaky hands, he briefly wonders why he feels the need to look his best this evening. Why should Andrés care? He surely hasn’t cared since he disappeared from his life and never looked back; about how Martín was, how he looked, even if he was alive. Maybe he just doesn’t want to show Andrés exactly how much his absence affected him, how fucked up he is. He doesn’t want him to know how much power he holds. Because Martín felt it, the moment he laid eyes on him today, that it hasn’t changed. He hoped it had, that the years apart would have dulled it, made his body forget how to react to Andrés’ presence. But it hasn’t, and it scares him. 

He should probably get something to eat, but he feels nauseous, so he takes a couple of gulps from the whisky instead. His body is restless, so he decides to go for a walk before meeting Andrés. This time he takes another route, one where he’s sure not to meet any people. 

Walking around in the dark streets, he can’t help but feel that this is a bad idea. At some point, he actually pulls his phone from his pocket to call Andrés and cancel, until it dawns on him that he doesn’t have his number. He arrives at the bar 15 minutes before they’re supposed to meet, and decides to wait for Andrés outside.

Andrés arrives after ten minutes, and even though Martín is prepared for his arrival, his heart skips a few beats. Andrés looks as elegant as ever - clearly the time spent away from Martín has been good for him. 

“Martín,” he says again this time, but his smile is smaller now, more natural. It surprises Martín that he is able to return the smile, without forcing it. It seems like none of them know what to do with their hands, so they do nothing. Martín decides to turn around and walk inside, and Andrés follows him. None of them says anything while waiting for their drinks, and when they sit down at a table, the silence starts getting awkward.

Martín fiddles with his drink for a while, looking down at the table. Then he breaks the silence:

“So, how was the play?”

Andrés looks up too.

“It was marvelous, a true masterpiece.”

He tells Martín about the actors and the book it was based on. The sound of Andrés’ voice, so familiar, yet so foreign, makes Martín’s heart beat faster. He listens, but he doesn’t actually hear the words coming out of Andrés’ mouth. He looks at his eyes, sees the well-known spark in them, the way his eyebrows move all the time when he talks. The way he gestures with his hands, in such a theatrical way that would look exaggerated if it wasn’t him.

When Andrés stops talking, Martín nods, as if he has actually been listening. 

“What about you, what are you doing in this city?” Andrés asks.

Martín tells him about how he has spent his time doing jobs of different sizes and characters. How he has spent a lot of hours reading and studying engineering, using his knowledge to help others execute their plans without getting his own hands dirty. He doesn’t tell him about the many hours he has spent crying himself to sleep, drinking until he no longer remembered anything. How he has probably fucked every tall and handsome stranger in every gay bar around the city, everyone that looked the slightest like Andrés.

When he tells him about the details of the plans he has helped making, Andrés looks proud. 

As long as he sticks to facts, he is almost able to talk without thinking, without pretending. He even manages to laugh a few times. It sounds hollow, but it’s a laugh. 

Andrés goes to the bar to buy them both another drink. When he sits down, his leg brushes Martín’s under the table, and Martín flinches as if he’s been burned. He looks at Andrés with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I—”

He swallows hard and feels the heat on his cheeks. 

Andrés smiles at him, reassuring, but there’s something else in his eyes. 

He starts talking about the countries he has visited with Ana, but Martín feels the tension in the air.

It occurs to him that they haven’t touched, not once, since they met earlier. They used to touch all the time, and it hurts that they don’t. It hurts to feel the barrier between them, built by the years they have spent apart. It doesn’t feel right, and Martín’s throat tightens. His hands become restless, starting to remember what it felt like touching Andrés, what his skin felt like under Martín’s fingertips. The memory makes something inside his chest hurt, and he stands up abruptly, while Andrés is still talking, and excuses himself for the bathroom.

He grabs the side of the sink hard and looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are unnaturally wide. He looks shocked. He makes himself focus on his breathing while looking at himself. _He can’t do this_. 

He has thought of this moment so many times. Years ago, it was the only thing he ever wished for. He imagined it every time he walked outside, every time he saw people around him. That Andrés would appear, and they would be together again. That everything would go back to normal. But normal feels so long ago. Normal isn’t possible anymore. The hole inside him is no longer able to heal because what filled it has been absent for too long. He isn’t sure how to move on from here, if he will ever be able to.

He splashes some water on his face, wipes it off, and straightens his back. Inhale. Exhale. 

He walks to the table, but he doesn’t sit. He just looks at Andrés. Fiddles nervously with his hands. 

“I can’t do this.”

He already feels the tears burn in his eyes.

“I can’t just— I can’t act like nothing happened. I can’t sit here and listen to how you’ve moved on, when—” he swallows hard, not able to say another word.

He stares at Andrés, all blurry because of the tears in his eyes, and he feels absolutely _lost_. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He feels like he just took the one opportunity to make everything good again, and threw it away. But he can’t pretend. 

His body feels numb, and he doesn’t see the look on Andrés’ face when he turns around and walks out into the cold night. He vaguely realizes that he forgot his jacket, but it doesn’t mean anything, nothing means anything anymore. 

He walks, slowly, not knowing where, the tears now streaming down his face.

The hurried steps behind him don’t reach his mind, nor does the voice shouting his name. He only stops when Andrés appears in front of him, holding both of their jackets. 

“Martín, please.” 

Andrés hands him his jacket, but Martín doesn’t take it. He wipes the tears from his cheeks and shakes his head.

“Andrés, I can’t.”

Andrés closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a sigh. 

“We should go somewhere and talk. Please. I shouldn’t—” he looks around him, lowers his voice “—can we go to your place?”

Martín looks at him for a moment and starts walking in the direction of his apartment. Andrés follows quietly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants so badly to be close to Andrés, to let him put his arms around him and shield him from everything. 
> 
> But he’s afraid that Andrés himself is exactly who he needs to be shielded from. Andrés has the power to break him, to make his life miserable, he already proved that. Martín’s life is still miserable, but it has been worse. Much worse. And he doesn’t want to go back there. When he was barely even conscious for days, drinking all the time. When he wasn’t sure if he was even alive anymore, and didn’t really care, either.

Martín sits down on his bed, and Andrés looks around the apartment for a moment before he sits down on a chair, facing Martín.

Inside his own home, Martín no longer cares about keeping up a facade. He has never been able to do that for very long, which is why he hasn’t let anyone get close to him since Andrés left. Now only Andrés is here, and he knows Martín better than Martín knows himself. Even after the time apart, Andrés knows everything there is to know about him. He probably knows just how broken he is inside, even if Martín hasn’t told him the details yet. 

“Martín.”

Every time Andrés says his name, there’s a tiny spark of hope inside Martín’s chest, like a match being lit but not fully catching fire. The sound of his name in Andrés’ mouth reminds him of everything they had, everything that could be.

He continues looking down at his hands, so Andrés speaks again.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to pretend that nothing happened. When I saw you across the street, I didn’t think, I just felt the urge to talk to you. I thought you wanted it too, despite— what I did. I just thought we could take a drink and—”

He sighs, and when Martín finally looks up at him, he looks completely defeated, eyes watery with unshed tears. Martín feels a knot form in his stomach. He doesn’t like seeing Andrés like that. 

“I didn’t expect it to feel this way,” Andrés says in a low voice.

Martín frowns.

“Which way?”

Andrés sighs again, running his hand through his hair. 

“Do you have anything to drink?”

Martín points to the kitchen, and shortly after, Andrés returns with the bottle of whisky and two glasses. He pours a drink for Martín, who accepts it, sipping at it and waiting for Andrés to continue talking. 

Andrés doesn’t sit down again, he paces the room restlessly, sipping at his drink. Then he starts talking.

“I know love, I’ve been married several times. I know how it feels when love ends, how it feels when you leave someone you love, or they leave you, for one reason or another. I know, too, how it feels meeting them again after some time. When there are no feelings anymore, nothing, and you’ve forgotten why you even loved them.” — He stops, looks out the window — ”It’s not like that this time. With you.”

He turns to Martín again. It’s the first time Martín sees his eyes so full of emotions. 

“I left you behind because I expected to die from my illness. I never expected to see you again. But now I’m here, and I— I don’t know why I left.”

“But you did,” Martín states.

Andrés walks to the bed where Martín is seated, but hesitates. Martín nods at the place next to him, and Andrés sits down, thankfully not too close. 

Andrés lets out a shaky sigh, and Martín clearly sees his internal struggle painted all over his face. He’s trying so hard to process what’s going on inside him, to articulate what he doesn’t even understand himself. He starts nibbling at his fingers like he always does when he’s frustrated.

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

Martín huffs quietly and downs the rest of his drink.

He isn’t sure how to react to all of this. This is once again a situation he has imagined more than once. Andrés showing up and telling him how sorry he is, expecting it to fix everything. He always imagined all of the stuff he was going to yell at Andrés for hurting him, for making him go through all of this because he was a selfish asshole. Right now, though, the anger is overshadowed by other emotions. 

He wants so badly to be close to Andrés, to let him put his arms around him and shield him from everything. But he’s afraid that Andrés himself is exactly who he needs to be shielded from. Andrés has the power to break him, to make his life miserable, he already proved that. Martín’s life is still miserable, but it has been worse. Much worse. And he doesn’t want to go back there. When he was barely even conscious for days, drinking all the time. When he wasn’t sure if he was even alive anymore, and didn’t really care, either. 

“Your illness— what about that?”

Andrés lets out a breath, clearly relieved that Martín is talking to him.

“It’s still there. It didn’t progress as fast as they thought it would, but it isn’t gone. I’m still able to keep it at bay with the medications.” 

Martín nods and pours himself another drink. He probably shouldn’t, he hasn’t been eating all day, but he needs to calm his nerves, and this is the only way he knows. There’s still so much that doesn’t make sense in his head.

“Why would you leave me because of your illness? How did you think that would help?”

Andrés looks down at his hands.

“I didn’t want you to watch me die. I was afraid it would break you.”

“Yeah, you did a pretty good job breaking me anyway,” Martín snaps, immediately forcing his mouth shut, wishing that he hadn’t said anything. 

Andrés’ lips are pressed together in a straight line, an unmistakable expression of hurt on his face. It should feel better, to see Andrés like that, to get to hurt him back. But the truth is that Martín hates it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

He wants to take his words back, to erase the pain now visible in Andrés’ eyes. Suddenly the distance between them feels overwhelming, and Martín needs to break it, afraid that if he doesn’t, they’ll keep adding to it and it will end up being impossible to overcome.

He takes a couple of deep breaths before he makes his decision, and reaches out to put his hand on Andrés’ on the bed between them. When they finally touch, it feels almost electric, and Martín’s heartbeat quickens.

The way Andrés looks at him, his hand twitching slightly, tells that he didn’t expect the touch. 

“Don’t be,” Andrés says, shaking his head. “I thought it was for the best. I guess I was wrong. You don’t look— good.” His eyes dart over Martín’s body, the unmistakable evidence of the hell he’s been through.

“I’m better now than when you— when you just left.” He feels his hands starting to shake when he thinks about it, but he wants Andrés to know what he did to him, and this might be the only chance to tell him. So he continues.

“I was a mess. I was unconscious most of the time, drowning my feelings in cheap alcohol. I don’t know how much time passed like that, how many weeks, months. It worked for a while, and I thought that I could live with that until finally, it would kill me.”

“Martín—”

Martín closes his eyes, shakes his head. He needs to get it out. 

“I didn’t die. At some point, I wasn’t able to stay unconscious for very long.” 

His voice starts shaking from the memories in his mind.

“That was when the real pain began. When I realized that I was going to live without you for the rest of my life, and I couldn’t—”

His voice breaks, and he tries to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Martín.” Andrés’ voice is pleading. 

He moves to sit right next to Martín and wraps his arm around his shoulders. When Martín sees the tear on Andrés’ cheek, something inside him shatters. He claws at Andrés’ shirt, buries his face right under his chin, and begins sobbing. Andrés wraps his other arm around him, too, and buries his face in Martín’s hair, gently caressing his back. 

He doesn’t know how long he has been sobbing into Andrés’ shirt, but the next thing he knows is Andrés softly saying his name. He opens his eyes, confused, covered by a blanket. The room is dark, but Andrés sits right next to him.

“Martín.” Andrés’ hand rests on his arm, his thumb caressing the skin. “I have to go back to my hotel.” 

Martín blinks. Andrés’ face is illuminated by the moonlight seeping in through the window, and Martín almost forgot how beautiful he was. It takes him a minute to realize that he isn’t dreaming.

“Sorry. Did I fall asleep?” His voice is hoarse, and he suddenly remembers crying.

Andrés chuckles softly.

“Yes, don’t worry about that. I think you were exhausted. I didn’t want to wake you”

“Sorry,” Martín repeats and sits up.

“Please just go back to sleep.”

Just as Martín feels the panic of Andrés leaving creeping up on him, Andrés adds:

“Is it alright if I come back tomorrow?”

“Yes!”

Martín is too tired to feel embarrassed by how quickly the answer flies out of his mouth. Andrés doesn’t seem to mind, judging by his crooked smile.

When Martín lies back down, he almost can’t keep his eyes open, and he falls asleep right when Andrés tucks the blanket around him, feeling more peaceful than ever.

When he wakes up the next morning, he feels strangely relaxed. For the first night in a long time, he slept without waking one single time. No nightmares, no panic attacks, nothing.

He takes a quick shower and puts on a t-shirt when he hears knocking on the door. He hurries to put on a pair of jeans before he opens and finds Andrés standing outside, with two cups of coffee and a paper bag. 

“Good morning.”

Martín smiles without even having to force it.

“Ana is leaving this afternoon,” Andrés says while they’re sitting on the couch. “I’m not going with her. I’ve decided to stay a couple of days.”

Martín puts down his sandwich and looks at Andrés.

“Why?”

Andrés takes a sip of his coffee.

“I think we have a lot of talking to do. I don’t want to leave yet.”

Martín’s throat tightens when he realizes that Andrés _will_ leave, sooner or later. He has a wife. When he is done talking to Martín, he will leave him again, and go back to her. And Martín will be alone once again. 

Andrés seems to read him like an open book, judging from the frown forming on his face. He gently places a hand on Martín’s cheek.

“Martín.” The way Andrés says his name stops his thoughts from spiraling. “I don’t want to leave you again. Ever. I can’t go through that again.”

His hand slides from Martín’s cheek down his neck and further down, where his fingers trace Martín’s way too prominent collarbone. Martín blushes, wishing to hide, and Andrés’ eyes meet his.

“I can’t let you go through that again.”

“What about Ana?” Martín asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer.

Andrés shakes his head.

“I don’t know. She isn’t as important as you are.” He sighs. “I love you, Martín. I’ve always known that, like I told you before I left. I thought I would be able to forget it, but seeing you again, I realize that it’s impossible. I still love you just as much as I did back then.”

Martín’s vision gets blurry from the tears filling his eyes, and his heart is hammering in his chest. Part of him wants to tell Andrés to stop talking, because as good as it feels to hear those words again, it hurts just as much. He knows that those words are no guarantee that Andrés will stay with him, the last time he heard them, Andrés disappeared from his life. 

“You told me you loved me, and then you disappeared.”

Martín’s voice is threatening to break. He has to say the words out loud because Andrés’ actions still don’t make sense to him. 

Andrés looks away.

“I know I fucked up, I’ll never forgive myself for that. I didn’t get a lot of sleep this night, because I was so afraid that I ruined everything irrevocably. That you won’t be able to forgive me.”

“I don’t know if I will,” Martín replies in a strained voice. He carefully moves closer to Andrés, to give his body a chance to get used to his proximity again. Then he slowly places a hand on the back of Andrés’ neck, his fingertips slightly digging into the skin. “But I want to.”

Andrés looks at him, a hopeful flicker crossing his eyes. Without breaking eye contact, Martín closes the distance between them, his mouth meeting Andrés’. Andrés kisses him back, hesitantly, not demanding anything. Just their lips melting together, both taking their time, a silent promise to each other.

Martín’s heart flutters as he feels a spark of hope inside. The feeling scares him, makes him feel vulnerable, but as of now, he lets it flow through his body, easing the pain he has been living with for so long.


End file.
